A Proposal and a Promise
by Nyakai
Summary: After Prince Philip takes the crown from his uncle in Westminster Abbey, Gwyn returns home to check on the wounded Froderick. One shot.


**Disclaimer-** Of course, this isn't mine. Too bad, though. :(

**A Proposal and a Promise**

Philip followed Prince John back up the aisle of Westminster Abbey. "Give me my father's crown, sir," the young man announced curtly. John looked as if he had just been sentenced to execution. 

"This is ridiculous!" he cried, already well aware he had lost. Prince Philip signaled for the two nearest guards to restrain his uncle.

"History will ignore you!" shouted John. Gwyn was there to take the crown off his head, John glaring half-madly the entire time. The girl, however, took no notice as she presented the headpiece to Philip.

"I am in your service, your majesty," she said with a humble bow of her head. The prince took it and held it high for all in the Abbey to see. Everyone- nobles, guards, priests- cheered. Gwyn couldn't help but join in. England would be safe once more. The threat of King Richard's brother would linger over the land no longer. 

Prince Philip finally turned to his uncle, who appeared on the verge of shock. "You are hereby banished from England. If you are found within these borders ever again, you will be captured and hanged. Do you understand?"

John's eyes flashed up and he glared at the boy with as much hate as he could muster. "You have no idea the greatness of this mistake. But the people will see in time. You will _ruin_ this country! You-" But Philip waved his hands for the guards to escort the man out, Prince John struggling the whole way.

One of the priests hurried up the aisle with a pillow in his hands and held it up when he neared Philip. "The, uh, crown, please if you, sire," the man reminded, bowing his head to appear not as bold as he might've sounded. The prince returned the nod and gently set the headpiece on the pillow.

"We did it, Gwyn," said Philip, turning back to her. He started. She wasn't there. He quickly scanned the crowded room for the short, boyish haircut, but it was nowhere to be found. The excited crowd was still cheering and all the noises drowned out the prince's calls of "Gwyn!"

Gwyn had slipped out of the Abbey before John had been removed. Now that one issue had been resolved, another one of similar importance had come to the forefront. Just as the girl reached her horse, she saw many men who had helped free Robin Hood hurrying toward Westminster Abbey. Gwyn swiftly mounted the horse and nudged it in the direction of the small group with clicks of her tongue and kicks to its sides.

"Uncle Tuck!" she called to the slightly plump friar leading the charge. The girl pulled her steed around again so it trotted in the same direction as the man. "Uncle Tuck, where is Froderick? Is he still in the forest?"

"Oh, no," the friar replied with a shake of his balding head. "I expect by now he's back home. It wasn't a serious wound, Gwyn, really it wasn't." Before he could ask about the situation at the Abbey, the girl had already spurred her horse into a gallop.

No matter the speed of the beast, it was never fast enough. Why did she have to live so far away from Westminster Abbey? Gwyn thought it would take days to reach her home. She wouldn't take anyone's word for it- even Friar Tuck's. She had to see Froderick for herself. The only memory in her mind was of him diving in front of Prince Philip in the wood and taking the arrow. He had saved the prince's life, keeping the heir to the throne alive so Prince John would have no claim. But he had been wounded himself. Gwyn had had no time to stick around and discover the seriousness of the arrow, but she was going to find out now.

The girl was practically dismounting when the small, familiar collection of houses came into view. She didn't even take her own horse to the stables- she jumped off and tossed the reigns to a friar passing by. Gwyn bolted all the way to Froderick's room where she found another friar exiting, closing the door behind himself.

"Is he well?" questioned Gwyn quickly. The man, who was holding a bowl of water, nodded. "The injury is not too serious. He just needs time to rest and heal in his own time."

Of course, that was his way of telling her to leave Froderick alone and stay out of his room. Gwyn donned a meek expression and gave a humble bob of her head. The friar smiled, figuring she would obey him, and walked toward the kitchens. Only when Gwyn could no longer hear his footsteps did she enter.

Froderick looked sleeping comfortably in his bed. His right arm had been put in a sling and it made his chest look deformed under a clean linen shirt. His other arm was on top of the blankets and his hand was clenched around something small. In the eight years he had been with her family, she had never seen him like this. It was almost frightening that he had been wounded.

"You _fool_!" the girl cried, slamming the door behind her. Froderick was startled awake as she marched over and threw her arms around him. "You crazy fool!"

"Gwyn? Ow- my shoulder- let go!" he shouted back. Gwyn released him and proceeded to find a chair to set beside the bed.

"So I take it your father is safe?" said Froderick as the girl sat down. She smiled.

"Yes, my father and Will Scarlett are safe, Prince John is banished from all of England and Prince Philip will probably be coronated tomorrow." Froderick shifted uneasily.

"I guess I should get used to calling you 'your majesty,'" he almost mumbled. To his surprise, Gwyn started laughing.

"No, silly," she said with a shake of her head. "Nothing of the sort. I am but a commoner, as you know well." The girl's smile waned and a sad expression lingered on her face. At Froderick's immensely happier look, Gwyn's smile returned, though somewhat forced.

"I can't believe I missed all that. It sounded like an exciting night," the boy said at last, breaking the silence. Gwyn gave a shrug.

"Nothing extraordinary. But I can't believe _you_ dived in front of that arrow!" So much amazement clung to her words that she almost sounded mad. "What were you thinking? You've never done anything like that before!"

"Never done anything that brave, you mean," replied Froderick quickly, staring at her with mingled sadness and seriousness.

"Well... yes," she admitted at last as she tucked her hair behind an ear. How Froderick hated her hair so short. It was so different and strange looking. He hated it so much he liked it.

"But," Gwyn spoke up, "because you did, Philip is still alive and can take the throne. You may have single-handedly saved all of England from Prince John's tyranny." Her smile was infectious and Froderick found himself grinning, too.

"So it's a good thing I wasn't thinking then?" he asked. Gwyn laughed again.

"A very good thing." The boy reached over and took her hand in his- which was awkward because he had to stretch his good arm across his body.

"Gwyn, if I was brave like that all the time, would you like me better?" The girl vented a growl as she rolled her eyes. She withdrew her hand and used it to lightly slap Froderick across the face.

"Stop it, I'm serious," Gwyn ordered. "I like you just fine- I always have."

"Yes, but not in the way-"

"Are you hungry, Froderick?" interrupted the girl quickly, standing up. Slowly, he nodded. He defeatedly ran a hand through his hair as he watched her leave. Why was he always saying things like that? Just as Froderick was planning something smart to say, Gwyn poked her head back into the room. 

"You have another visitor." Prince Philip walked in, nodded to Gwyn, and took the seat next to the wounded boy. 

"Your highness," acknowledged Froderick with a respectful bob of his head. "You're... you're visiting _me,_ sire?"

"Yes, I come to offer a proposition," the prince said in a formal air.

-

Gwyn hurried around the kitchen, collecting a tray, dishes and silverware. She knew every square inch of the place by heart and could find anything faster than the cooks. The few friars that happened to be visiting the kitchen at that late hour watched the woman suspiciously; No one had really seen Gwyn since she had cut her hair and ridden off after her father. Once they realized it was Robin Hood's daughter and not some starving thief, they continued to stare at her insanely short haircut.

Gwyn, though, didn't notice. She was busy inspecting what had been made for the last meal. It was cold and mostly made of pig liver. The girl vented a sigh. Froderick hated pig liver. However, he had always complemented Gwyn on her vegetable soup. She never figured out why he praised something so mundane when the cooks were known to randomly prepare great feasts. This time, though, she was glad it was so easy.

As Gwyn went across the room to fetch a pot, she finally noticed the small crowd of friars staring at her. If they were just going to stand there, they might as well be put to work. "Uncle William, would you please find me some vegetables... and Uncle Thomas, if you would please cut them for me..." And pretty soon the entire group was under her command. The kitchen was bustling with as much activity after midnight as it was during the day.

With so much help, Gwyn had the soup ready in no time and she scooped some out into a bowl. Along with earlier side dishes from dinner, she had a tray loaded with a full-coarse meal.

Gwyn thanked all the uncles as he left the kitchen. The girl didn't see a single soul as she headed back for Froderick's room until she reached his door. There she ran into Friar Tuck, who had just returned from Westminster Abbey.

"Are you still up, child? I thought you would be sound asleep by now," commented the man. Gwyn gave a shrug.

"I am more interested in Froderick's health than my own." A smile cracked on the old friar's face.

"And I'm sure the boy will be delighted to hear it." He paused and scanned the tray of food. "Soup? They didn't tell me they made soup..."

"Oh, some of the uncles and I made it just now," Gwyn replied, fighting back an impatient tone. She was two feet away from the door and stuck there.

"For Froderick?"

"Yes, uncle." At that Tuck's smile grew.

"Is it, now? Well, I shall hinder you no longer. Your father will be home soon. In a much better mood than he's been of late. By tomorrow, Froderick will be a real hero. Might not get much time with him then," Tuck said. Gwyn cast him a questioning glance at the unusual way he was talking. As the friar walked away, she could've sworn she heard him say something about "young love." 

Gwyn dismissed those words with a shake of her head and entered the room. Froderick was alone.

"Have you been waiting long?" she questioned as she made room on the bedside table for the tray.

"No, the prince left only minutes ago. He went with Friar Edmund to find a room for the night, if you're wondering." Gwyn sat in the chair next to his bed and gave him no answer. Her expression, however, clearly told him "stop it."

"Vegetable soup? With the onions and the celery..." Froderick went on, observing the food tray.

"And the cabbage and potatoes and the bit of salt," added Gwyn with a knowing grin.

"You're too good to me," he said as he grabbed the tray. The girl had to help him set it on his lap and he began shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth. Froderick nearly choked as he gave a severe hiss of pain. 

"Well, it's still hot," Gwyn said almost reprimandingly. After a short pause, her voice returned to normal. "So, what did Prince Philip say?" Froderick then seemed to be taking an unnecessarily long time chewing his food.

Finally he said, "Just that he wants me to be on his council when he's made king."

"Really? Oh, Froderick, that's fantastic!" cried Gwyn with a huge smile. "I am so happy for you- it sounds exciting."

"It is, it really is great," the boy said in an unconvincing tone, absently poking at the vegetables with his spoon. "But I.. I'll be going off to Spain for awhile." Froderick was slightly disheartened that Gwyn still appeared excited.

"Spain? How wonderful! How long will you be gone?"

"I guess until I'm fluent in Spanish. That could take years," the boy replied. Why did Gwyn still look happy? He wouldn't see her for years and she was grinning like mad. Froderick went from poking the vegetables to viciously slashing at them.

"I think it will be easy for you," the girl spoke up with a smile. "Seeing as how you conquered Latin so quickly. You learned it much faster than me."

"Well, that's just because you never studied," said Froderick, shrugging. Gwyn tried to appear offended but couldn't hide her grin.

"I hope you write," she said at last after Froderick had eaten a few more bites.

"Of course. How else will your Latin improve?"

"You are _not_ writing to me in Latin!" protested Gwyn with widening eyes. "Or Spanish. If you do, I won't read them." The girl folded her arms across her chest and stared playfully determinedly at him. Froderick shook his head.

"I'll pray for the poor soul who becomes your Latin tutor," he said reverently. Gwyn started laughing again. Slowly the giggles died down and her smile waned as realization struck her.

"I suppose archery won't be quite as fun without you," sighed the girl. Froderick smiled to himself; she had finally gotten it.

"How can it get any worse for you? You always won," he replied with a mouth half full of food.

"You won sometimes," Gwyn added quickly. Her friend's head snapped up at that; he clearly remembered the last time she was in his room- to steal clothes, no less- she had told him she let him win at archery. 

"Let's not talk about that," said Froderick before shoveling more soup into his mouth.

"How is your arm, by the way?" the girl asked at last, true concern growing on her face. Froderick wiggled his arm a bit under his shirt. 

"It's really the shoulder that was hurt. But to heal best, I shouldn't use my arm at all. So for awhile I shall probably need much assistance," he said in a much more lighthearted fashion than Gwyn would have expected.

"Well then, let me be the first to volunteer for the cause."

"The cause?" he repeated.

"The cause to help you recover," the girl said simply. Froderick laughed while trying to swallow a spoonful of soup. He almost choked.

"If that be the case, I might never want to heal." Immediately after, an awkward silence settled over the both of them, making Gwyn stare at her folded hands and Froderick at his nearly empty bowl. 

"I always find myself saying things like that, don't I?" he spoke up at last, somewhat quietly. Gwyn looked at him as if she was at a loss for words.

"Well... you, um... you say what's on your mind and that is a good quality... I guess," she ended meekly.

"You're just saying that, but you really don't think so, do you?" Froderick questioned, staring straight into her eyes. "If I always knew what to say- if I could always say something smart- would you like m-" He was cut off when Gwyn leaned forward and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"I know what you're going to say. _Don't say it_," she ordered. Only when Froderick gave a faint nod did she let go. "You really need to stop doing things just for me. You don't have to change to please me or my father or the uncles or anyone. Just start doing things for yourself. And for the love of King Richard, build up some confidence, man!"

Froderick returned the food tray to the side table, thinking over her advice. "Do something for myself," he mumbled as he began trying to push his bed covers off of him. Gwyn had to help for it was slow going with only one hand. He climbed of bed, muttering, "build some confidence..." 

"Where are you going?" the girl asked quickly as he headed for the door.

"To do something for myself," replied Froderick without a glance back at her. Both curious and worried, Gwyn followed him out of his room and to the outside.

The waning moon cast a bleak glow over the landscape, making nothing appear warm or inviting. Froderick was only noticeable by his clean white shirt; everything else blended in with the growing shadows. Gwyn followed him all the way to the edge of the small cluster of houses where a few trees lined the road. A little further on, the forest started.

The girl wondered where he was heading in such a determined march. She would've asked him again, but she feared she would awake sleeping friars.

Froderick stopped halfway between the houses and the forest, right next to a knarled tree with many low-hanging branches. He seemed to be inspecting the tree as he waited for Gwyn to catch up.

_"What are you doing?"_ she hissed quietly; being outside at night just made her want to whisper. Froderick replied in the same quiet tone. "Remember this?"

"I remember climbing it together when we were younger. I was fascinated with it because it was so tall and easy to climb. But why-"

"You gave me this here," the boy interrupted, opening his hand to show a plain silver ring. It was the only thing that was enhanced by the moonlight.

"My mother's," smiled Gwyn. "Were we playing we were getting married?"

"You told me that out of all the places of the country- towns, cities, or even Westminster Abbey- you wanted to get married right here underneath this tree." Gwyn couldn't help but smile at the reminder, which in turn brought to her mind several more silly childhood memories.

"Well, Gwyn, so do I," the boy said, breaking her thoughts. She looked up at him with a fading grin.

"What exactly are you saying?" In reply, Froderick reached out with his only usable arm, pulled her closer by her neck and kissed her.

Gwyn had kissed him often, but they both knew it had meant nothing. They were just friendly little gestures of hers. But now, he wanted Gwyn to know this meant something. Froderick was trying to convey all his feelings for her in one kiss- and she got it.

The girl didn't know how long it took her to pull back. She was stunned and confused and shy and angry and embarrassed all at once. Gwyn wanted to punch him, yet at the same time she wanted him to kiss her again.

What surprised her even more was that Froderick didn't apologize.

"What I am saying, Gwyn," the boy spoke up after what seemed like forever, "is that I don't want to have lied to Prince Philip wen I told him we were betrothed." He talked in a whisper, but in the soft darkness it seemed almost too loud.

"Betrothed?" Gwyn practically gasped. "You want... you want..."

"I want to marry you," finished Froderick, his manner exuding confidence. He brushed some hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"But... you are going to Spain and I shall be joining my father and helping him. I'm truly sorry, Froderick. I cannot," the girl said quickly. Her friend's newfound boldness surprised her so much that she was unsure how to react to everything.

"Betrothed does not mean that we have to get married tomorrow. It can be after I return from Spain. Will you at least think about it?" pleaded the boy, desperately grasping her arm.

"Froderick, listen to yourself- what has gotten into you?"

He was silent for awhile, just gazing into her eyes, which he thought were the most beautiful shade of brown. The boy stared as if they would open up right into her mind and give him the key information he needed to win her over.

"You know well. I love you, Gwyn." Again she tried to pull away, but in the end she only diverted her gaze. Froderick continued uneasily, "There is nothing in the way. We are both of the same status, your father would be fine with it, we-"

"Stop, please," the girl interrupted as she looked back at him. A few tears were slowly creating trails down her cheeks.

"Why don't you feel the same? What hinders you?" questioned Froderick, his voice betraying his confusion. Gwyn wiped one tear streak from her face, then quickly passed a hand under her nose, sniffling.

"I just do not believe we could work. I've grown up with you- I see you as a brother."

"Then why do I see you as more?" questioned the boy. Gwyn wiped the other side of her face free of tears while giving a limp shrug. A sad expression overcame Froderick's features.

"You would rather marry Philip, wouldn't you?"

"No... I don't know... I can't!" she replied, venting an exasperated sigh. "I know I am _not_ marrying the Prince, Froderick, believe me." Again she diverted her gaze. A long silence followed, when all that could be heard was the wind faintly rustling the leaves.

"I will never be good enough for you, will I?" the boy asked. Gwyn's head snapped back and she wore an apologetic expression.

"Oh, Froderick- you're wonderful. Really, you are, and any woman would be lucky to have you as a husband-"

"But I don't want any woman. I want you," he interrupted. Gwyn's expression grew slightly pathetic and she took hold of his shirt. 

"I don't know how to respond to that. We get along perfectly... most of the time... and you'd think we would make a perfect match, but..."

"But what?"

The girl's mind raced. Why was she coming up with so many excuses? Stupid excuses, no less. Gwyn gave a defeated sigh. "But nothing. This is all just so unexpected." She let Froderick kiss her forehead and wrap his good arm around her shoulders.

"You're right. It is extremely late... or more like extremely early... and we've both been through much today. Maybe tomorrow will be better." They began walking back toward the houses.

"Don't ask me tomorrow," Gwyn suddenly spoke up, her whisper shattering the delicate silence. The boy stopped walking immediately and stared at her, hurt. Before he could say anything, she added, "Ask me when you return from Spain. I'll have had plenty of time to think it over by then."

"You know that may take years. In that time, you-"

"In that time, I will be riding with my father. You have my promise that I will deny every other possible marriage proposal until your return," she told him flatly, staring straight into his eyes. Froderick was satisfied with the answer and started walking again.

"You would even deny Prince Philip's proposal?" Gwyn immediately, though playfully, jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Stop it. He would not ask _me_ to marry him."

"He will." At Froderick's definitive statement, the girl kept silent until they reached his room. When he removed his arm, Gwyn finally answered, "Yes, I would even deny Prince Philip's proposal." The boy couldn't stop a wide grin from spreading across his face.

"I shall look forward to my return all the more now," he said before kissing her hand. 

Gwyn looked at him differently now; he seemed to have reached a whole new level of maturity in the last few hours. Maybe the arrow had poked some insight into him. To the girl, it was rather fetching. Slowly, Froderick didn't appear so much like a brother anymore. His talk, his manners were more like a suitor. The suitor he had always tried to be.

Gwyn smiled back as she felt her cheeks growing pink. "As will I."


End file.
